


The Adventure Of Hereward's Dagger (The Affair Of The Grice-Pattersons On The Isle Of Uffa)

by Cerdic519



Series: Further Adventures Of Mr. Sherlock Holmes [31]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Curses, Daggers, Gay Male Character, M/M, Slow Burn, Theft, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes, Young Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-01 19:46:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15150503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: An ancient weapon with an old curse attached is stolen – or is it? The dynamic duo visit the Fens and Sherlock assists the difficult path of true love.





	The Adventure Of Hereward's Dagger (The Affair Of The Grice-Pattersons On The Isle Of Uffa)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alltheholmesandjohn (curlyfuchuck)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/curlyfuchuck/gifts).



_Introduction by Sir Sherrinford Holmes, Baronet_

This curious little tale happened just over a month after the second (published) case of that year, which would later be released to the world as _”The Reigate Puzzle”_. My brother Sherlock did not like to leave London as a rule but the recent 'disturbance' in his relationship with Watson seemed to have opened him up more to accepting cases out in the Provinces, and it was thus that the two of them set out for the beautiful county of Huntingdonshire to solve a most curious theft that did not happen.

Note: In the year following this case there was passed the Local Government Act (effective 1889) which amongst may changes 'tidied up' most of the exclaves and enclaves around the borders of England's counties. As a result the term 'exclave' has since fallen from common usage. The difference is that an enclave is wholly surrounded by only one other administration ( _e.g._ Dudley in Worcestershire which town is totally surrounded by only Staffordshire), whilst the Isle of Uffa was an exclave because it was bordered by two other areas, Lincolnshire (Holland) to the north and the Soke of Peterborough to the south. Uffa was as a result of this Act 'annexed' to the Soke but, I am told, it remains as isolated as it always has been and hopefully always will be.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

_Narration by Doctor John Hamish Watson, M.D._

Inspector Lestrade had called round whilst I was visiting Holmes, and was clearly preoccupied with something. I hoped it was a case that might distract the great man; he had been unsettled this past week after the brief rupture in our friendship caused by the publication of my story about him, and although he had agreed that I might at some point put further of our adventures to the Nation, our friendship was still a little frayed. I did not know whether to be pleased or sorry that he was notably less prone to speak his mind than before. 

“You look troubled, Lestrade”, Holmes observed. “Not the Lamport & Holt Robbery, surely?”

The inspector shook his head.

“That is done and dusted thanks to you, sir”, he said. “No, I received a letter from an old friend of mine who went to the States for a time and has not long returned home. He has been asked to look into a rather unusual case of theft.”

“Unusual?” I asked. “How, pray?”

“My friend's name is Mr. Bedivere Quinn”, the inspector said. “Six brothers and all named after Knights of the Round Table but that's families for you, I suppose. He lives in Huntingdonshire. It's all a bit.... delicate, sir.”

“You mean that he would like your assistance, but the Metropolitan Police Service frowns on such things”, Holmes said. “I think you were right that time you suggested that criminals should operate under the same restrictions as policemen, as it would make their lives infinitely harder. Well, we....”

He stopped and looked across at me. The inspector looked between us curiously.

“Would you be free to visit the fair county of Huntingdonshire any time soon, Watson?” he asked.

I thought wryly that prior to recent events he would have just assumed that I was able to accompany him. 

“I am due some time off at the surgery”, I said, “provided I give them a little notice. I am sure they would let me have next week as I know Peter is back from his holiday then.”

“Excellent!” Holmes said. “I suggest, Lestrade, that you ask your friend to post me a brief summary of the case, then he can provide all the facts once we visit him in his fenland retreat.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

The following Monday we adjourned to King's Cross Station where we took a Great Northern Railway train to Peterborough. There we had to change for the slow train that would deposit us at Forston Road Halt; I was always suspicious of any station with a title like that after I had read that the original 'Andover Road Station' was in fact some _ten miles_ from the town that it purported to serve!

“Mr. Quinn was most informative in his letter”, Holmes said once we were underway. “Have you heard of the Isle of Uffa?”

“No. Although we seem to be headed to the same area as the Isle of Ely, so I suppose that like there it was an island in the past.”

“It is an exclave of Huntingdonshire, to the south of Lincolnshire”, he said. “It does not even possess a railway station; Mr. Quinn says that it is very much a world apart even in this modern age. The 'isle' – not an island, as you said - is just a few miles across and has but one fair-sized village in it, Forston Magna. Rivers and drains surround the place, and the only way on or off is either by the single bridge or by boat. The squire is one Mr. Merioneth Fforbes; merry by name but not by nature, he says. The place was once a hideout for the famous Hereward the Wake after 1066.”

“An ancient place”, I said. 

“Mr. Fforbes owned a bejewelled hunting dagger, which was said to go all the way back to Hereward himself”, he said. “There is as there must be some doubt about that claim but Mr Quinn still believes that it was worth a considerable amount, even without such noble provenance. It was kept on display at Hereward House, and last Tuesday it was stolen.”

“Why was it not in the newspapers?” I asked.

“Because Mr. Fforbes was almost sure that it had not left the area”, Holmes said. “The house was being visited by a party of four guests, one of whom had expressed some interest in purchasing the item.”

“He believes that one of them stole the dagger?” I asked.

“Oddly Mr. Quinn did not say that”, Holmes said. “I think that Lestrade was right. This is indeed a most curious little case.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

A short time later our train deposited us at Forston Road Halt, where Mr. Bedivere Quinn was waiting to take us to the island. He was a tall patrician gentleman, looking much more the elderly English country squire than a retired policeman, and I noted when he spoke that he had already picked up the local accent. 

“I worked with George when he was assigned to New York that time over the bonds theft some years back”, Mr. Quinn explained. “When I retired from the force over there, I decided to come to the Old Country.”

“Why the Fens?” Holmes asked. “The United States is a wonderful young country but my own experience of it was that too many of its citizens think England starts and ends with London.”

“My cousin Eunice married an Uffan, a Mr. Josiah Netley, and they lived here”, he explained. “I came for a visit one time and I just fell in love with the place. It's very parochial, like living in a time capsule.”

“Have you told Mr. Fforbes about your bringing us in on the case?” Holmes asked.

“I did”, Mr. Quinn admitted, almost reluctantly, “and he _demanded_ to see you the moment that you arrived. And bearing in mind how the Isle is, I am sure that he will hear of your advent probably before you reach Forston itself!”

I nodded, though I wished that he would have waited as it was impossible to take notes in a moving vehicle. He noted my discomfiture and smiled.

“My notes as to what I have found so far are at your disposal, doctor”, he re-assured me. “Though the case itself is beyond me. I should begin perhaps by explaining the peculiar situation here, and why I am involved in the first place.”

“The Isle of Uffa is part of Huntingdonshire”, he began, “though it is detached from the rest of that county. It is also subject to certain arcane laws which lead the county constabulary to tread warily around Mr. Fforbes. In truth one of their constables should be investigating this case, but the last time they came to Forston their heavy-handed approach upset several of the local people and caused a lot of ill-feeling. When I offered to look into this matter, both the chief constable and Mr. Fforbes agreed that it might be for the best.”

“I see”, Holmes said. “We must tread softly, therefore.”

“Indeed”, Mr. Quinn said. “So to the crime, which is the theft of the famous Hereward Dagger. The Friday before last Mr. Fforbes was telegraphed by his financial adviser in London that there was a business opportunity which required his signature the following week. He left early on Monday to go up to London. He had intended to be away for three days and to visit his property manager in the city on the Wednesday, but that gentleman was called away by a family bereavement so Mr. Fforbes returned home on that day, a full day before he was expected. In his absence the estate had been run by his son Peter Fforbes, a bright young fellow who by all accounts gets on well with his father. He is eighteen and planning to go to university at Oxford.”

“Why not Cambridge?” I asked. “It is a lot closer.”

“I wondered at that”, Mr. Quinn said, “and he said that he wanted the experience of living away from home for the first time. Cambridge would have meant a fairly easy commute from Forston, even if roads in and around the Isle are poor.”

I could vouch for that. Indeed, calling what we were currently on a 'road' was stretching the definition far too far.

“Mr. Fforbes had arranged for his guests to arrive early on Wednesday and to stay through the weekend”, he went on. “His son had insisted that he could entertain them in his father's expected absence, rather than putting them off. All the guests arrived on time and Mr. Fforbes returned home shortly after luncheon. His son had taken one of them, a friend of his, over to Cambridge for the day. Naturally the first thing the squire did on his return was to go into the gallery to check the Hereward Dagger, only to find that it had gone!”

 _“Dramatis personae?”_ Holmes asked.

“Four, apart from Mr. Fforbes and his son. He has two more sons and a daughter, but all are away at boarding school. Mr. Edmund Grice-Patterson is the member of Parliament for Huntingdonshire and his constituency includes Uffa; he is an old friend of the squire's. He is forty-six, a Conservative, and I think no more or less corrupt than most of the rapscallions down at Westminster. With him were his son Thomas, and his daughter Alice. Thomas is twenty years of age and went to the same school as young Fforbes to whom he is a close friend; the two of them are going to the same college in Oxford though I forget which one. Miss Alice is nineteen and fervently into women's suffrage, much to the discomfiture of just about everyone around her as the idea of keeping her opinions to herself is not one that she has yet to attain. Mr. Fforbes speaks of the desirability of her marrying Peter when he reaches twenty-one, but they appear to be just good friends.”

“And the fourth person?” I asked.

“That is where it gets interesting”, Mr. Quinn said, pushing his round spectacles up his stubby nose. “Mr. Rufus Sully, a jewellery expert whom Mr. Fforbes had agreed – reluctantly I suspect – to allow to examine the dagger. Or would have done had it not been taken, which as you may see throws yet another light onto events. As I am sure you know, the general opinion of experts thus far - even though none have been allowed to examine the dagger closely - is that it is medieval at best. I should mention that Mr. Sully is quite rich and that it is he who has expressed an interest in purchasing the dagger. Though I think Mr. Fforbes would rather sell the house first!”

“Intriguing!” Holmes said. “Was there no security to protect this valuable antique?”

“Not in the conventional sense”, our host said. “It has been stolen twice before, but was quickly returned on both occasions. It is, so they say, marked with the Curse of the Hunted, which was bestowed on the weapon by a local witch in Hereward's time. Should it ever leave the Isle or the family, something terrible will happen to the thief. I too was skeptical, gentlemen, but the last time it happened the then-thief's two sons both died – both stabbed in knife attacks within an hour of each other yet in different towns! I will show you both around the gallery when we get there.”

“Insurance?” I ventured.

“Mr. Fforbes does not believe in it”, Mr. Quinn said. “In this case, perhaps I can understand. The item is irreplaceable.”

“Could someone from outside have done it?” Holmes asked.

“That is unlikely”, our host said. “The Isle is accessed only by a toll bridge, which we are coming up to, or a passenger ferry – basically a row-boat operated as and when needed - from Forston Parva to Steepleton across in Lincolnshire. And the place is such that any stranger would be spotted immediately. Even in Forston Magna an incomer would stand out a mile, let alone in one of the outlying villages and hamlets.”

Our carriage rumbled to a halt as Mr. Quinn handed over a ha'penny to the clearly suspicious toll-collector, and we rumbled over the river and onto Uffa. I could see his point; even by the standards of this remote part of the country, it seemed totally bereft of all human life. I could well imagine a Saxon renegade warrior hiding out here nearly a thousand years ago.

I caught Holmes' amused expression and reddened.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

Forston Magna may have been the largest place on Uffa but it was still little more than a village, with just a few shops, a post office, a high street with a strange kink in its main road for some reason, and an oddly-proportioned if attractive large church.

“Parts of it are Saxon”, Mr. Quinn said, seeing me regarding it. “Perhaps if we have time, you can go and examine it more closely. The bend in the road used to be a junction for a side-approach to the Hall, but one of Mr. Fforbes' ancestors closed if off and allowed the road to be built over. We are coming up to the Hall now.”

I looked at the approaching building, and was relieved to see that it was early Georgian. The current fashion for Gothic architecture frankly made me uncomfortable, as I always felt that it looked out of place in England. A footman was awaiting our arrival and spoke quickly to Mr. Quinn, who turned to us.

“Mr. Fforbes does wish to see us immediately”, he said, almost apologetically.

“That is why we are here”, Holmes said comfortingly. “Let us go and brave the storm!”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

I have to say that I did not take well to Mr. Merioneth Fforbes. He seemed torn between dubiousness at Holmes' abilities, and outright hostility to the idea that I might write up the case at some future date. It was a tribute to my friend's abilities to soothe even the most ruffled feathers that he won the fellow over so quickly, although I still felt him regarding me suspiciously at dinner. I was strongly tempted to take out my notebook just to see if it would provoke him!

The jewellery expert Mr. Sully was not at dinner as he was dining at the vicarage, but the three young people were in attendance. Miss Alice Grice-Patterson was every bit as formidable as Mr. Quinn had made out and expounded her feelings on women's suffrage to both Holmes and myself. Forcibly. Twice. I was a little surprised that this did not evince a reaction from Mr. Fforbes but I later learnt from Mr. Quinn that the one time the two had clashed she had got the better of the argument, and that the squire had since held his fire.

Miss Grice-Patterson seemed much more interested in her political views than in sharing anything more than a polite word with young Peter Fforbes, who spent much of the dinner talking quietly with his friend. He and the young lady's brother were physically very similar, and I thought privately that Peter Fforbes did not look like much of a future lord to me. Like his father he and his friend also avoided engaging Miss Grice-Patterson on any political topics. The only difference between the boys, rather unfortunately, was that the squire's son was 'distinguished' by a most regrettable attempt at a moustache; either that or something had crawled across his upper lip and died there!

After dinner the three young people went to the billiard-room. Holmes turned to our host.

“I think now might be a good time to visit the scene of the crime”, he said. “May we go to the gallery, please?”

Mr. Fforbes nodded and led the way out of the dining-room, pausing briefly before unlocking the door to the gallery.

“Do you think that the dagger can be recovered?” he asked, his voice almost breaking.

“The fact that the curse has not been activated suggests that it has not yet left the island”, Holmes observed. 

I was surprised at that; I had not thought that he believed much in superstition. 

Mr. Fforbes nodded and led us into the gallery. The room itself was surprisingly well-lit, with a large central window overlooking the front of the estate. There were three glass cases in the centre of the room, two large and one small. The small middle case contained a very empty purple cushion. Holmes walked up to it and frowned.

“The glass was not broken?” he asked.

“It was”, our host admitted. “There was a lock fitted to the glass cover, which I shall have to have replaced.”

Holmes nodded and ran his fingers round the base of the cabinet.

“Who has access to the keys?” he asked.

“The cabinet and gallery keys are all on the main set, which I have with me at all times”, our host said.

“But you were away in London immediately prior to the theft”, Holmes pointed out. “Did you leave the keys with your son?”

Mr. Fforbes' face reddened.

“I did”, he admitted, “but when I asked him, Peter admitted that he had left them downstairs for a time whilst he and Tom were studying in his room.”

Holmes smiled. I knew that look; he was on to something.

“Is there a spare set?” he asked.

“Yes, but not together”, our host said. “Mrs. Parkes, the housekeeper, had keys to all the rooms but not the cabinets, whilst Arnulfson, my butler, has the cabinet keys but not the room one. Mrs. Parkes allows the maids in to dust, but she always locks up after they finish. And she always checks round after they are done; she assured me that after the last cleaning my dagger was still there.”

“How old is this house?” Holmes asked.

Our host gaped at the apparent _non sequitur._

“Pardon?”

“In what year was the house built, Mr. Fforbes?” Holmes asked patiently.

“It is early sixteenth century, but it was mostly rebuilt after the Great Fire of 1741.”

“And is the gallery part of the old building?” Holmes asked.

“Yes, but....”

“Has it always been a gallery?”

Our host seemed to make an effort to pull himself together.

“This used to be a family chapel during Elizabethan times”, he said. “You will note that it affords an excellent view of the only access road which, given the religious differences of the time, was most useful.”

“Excellent!” Holmes beamed. “I believe that we may be able to bring this case to a successful resolution, which will hopefully include the return of your missing treasure.”

He strode from the room and I scuttled after him.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

The following morning we sat down to a delicious breakfast, and were soon joined by both Mr. Sully (a short, dark man whom I instinctively mistrusted) and Mr. Quinn. We were still eating when our host arrived. I could see at once that he was not in a good mood.

“What happened?” Mr. Quinn asked. Mr. Fforbes sank heavily into his chair.

“Someone took Courtland's rowing-boat”, he said morosely. “They've left the island!”

I saw at once the implications of what he had said. If someone had taken the dagger and hidden on the island for a while, they had now gotten away. Our host took a coffee but waved away food, looking totally dejected.

That was until the end of the meal when a maid hurried into the room, curtsied to our host and whispered something to him.

“What the hell?” he yelled before shooting up and racing out of the room.

We all followed as quickly as we could to the gallery, where we found our host staring incredulously at the scene before him. There in the centre of the room, was the small display cabinet with the purple cushion. And on the cushion was what was undeniably a small hunting-dagger.

Mr. Fforbes beckoned Mr. Sully forward, and the expert gently lifted the weapon and examined it thoroughly before replacing it gently onto the cushion. Then he nodded at our host. 

As if by magic Arnulfson appeared next to his master holding a large glass of whisky, which Mr. Fforbes downed in one go. Then he looked sharply at Holmes.

“How do you explain this?” he demanded.

“I can certainly tell you how they got in and out”, Holmes said.

“How?” our host demanded.

Holmes walked over to a corner of the gallery, and pressed what looked like an ordinary-looking panel. Except when he did so, it slid back to reveal an opening.

“A priest-hole!” I gasped.

“Rather more”, he said, turning back to our host. “Your ancestors, sir, were Catholics at a time when the country was turning Protestant, and they very wisely had a system of escape passages installed just in case. I am sure that this leads outside, but you might notice that there are definite footprints both coming and going on the dusty floor. This is the means by which the thief gained access to the room. You will also notice how smoothly the mechanism operated, which indicates that it has been used recently.”

“But why did the thief return it?” Mr Fforbes demanded.

“Possibly the curse?” Holmes said. “Maybe they ventured off the island, something terrible happened, and they wisely chose to return it. As to the identity of the thief – well, since they came from the outside world, it could have been anyone.”

I was sure I felt a slight gasp from someone in the group behind me, but I could not identify who it was.

“Well, I have my dagger back and that is all that's important”, Mr. Fforbes said. “This calls for a celebration. Drinks, everyone.”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

“You know who it was, do you not?” I said, as our carriage rolled away from Hereward Hall the following day. He nodded.

“An unconventional crime in one sense”, he said. “The motives were certainly.... different. But I spoke to the thief – if I may call them such - and I am certain that the 'crime' will not be repeated.”

“Mr. Sully?” I asked. He shook his head.

“Young Peter Fforbes”, he said. 

I stared at him in confusion.

“But why?” I demanded. “He will inherit it anyway. Why would he take what is virtually his own property?”

“For the person he loved”, Holmes smiled. “A foolish dare; if you love me enough, you will leave the island with me and the dagger.”

“Well, that can't be”, I said petulantly. “He told us he went into Cambridge with young Thomas Grice-Patterson, not Alice.”

Holmes looked at me knowingly, and I only slowly realized that he was willing me to get it. And I did.

“Oh. _Oh!”_

“Mr. Fforbes should have been more careful as to what he wished for”, Holmes said wryly. “His son and heir is indeed in love, though not with the Grice-Patterson that he suspects. I only hope that they will be more discreet than when they were at dinner that night; their pointedly moving apart from each other every time someone looked at them was one of the things that alerted me to that possibility.”

“But the priest-hole?”

“I spoke to the boys in the gallery this morning”, Holmes explained. “Peter Fforbes oiled the mechanism and then went into and out of the priest-hole a couple of times to give the impression that someone had used it. He was the obvious thief, after all.”

“How?” I asked.

“Remember that the glass was broken?” he said.

I nodded.

“I looked at the locks on the other two cabinets”, he said. “Even the most infantile thief could have cut away one of those locks easily, and lifted the glass off. But he had to smash the glass, otherwise suspicion might have fallen on the key-holder. That, coupled with the priest-hole, clearly implied that it was an outside job.”

“Clearly!” I said.

“The boys wish to go to Australia together, once Peter's brother William comes of age and can inherit the Hall”, Holmes said. “And the curse of the dagger remains, which in this scientific age can only be for the good.”

“Young Peter Fforbes aside, I could never publish this case”, I said ruefully.

“Perhaps some day, the world will be more accepting”, he said. “Let us hope that we shall both live to see it.”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩


End file.
